Now then he's fighting like blazes,
The artillery guns loudly boom,
His rifle comes up to his shoulder,
And another brave Boer meets his doom.
Crack! crack! 'tis the brave soldier's music,
His spirits rise up—he can feel,
It's this music that raises his spirits,
And makes them as fearless as steel.
He is fighting for Queen and for country,
For his dear little baby and wife,
He knows that the foe must be beaten
And for this end he'll risk his dear life.
At last the day's fighting is over,
The wounded and dead lie around,
All now is quiet and peaceful,
From the guns we can hear not a sound.
But his poor wounded comrades lie moaning,
And gasping for life's loving breath,
But the great God of Love calls their spirits,
And they're clasped in the cold arms of death.
All things seem so strange and so dreary,
As sadly he gazes around,
He heaves a deep sigh and a tear dims his eye,
As he lies on the cold sodden ground.
NEVO!
But still we are here, what is left of us,
Noble and brave to be seen,
We've proved ourselves brave British soldiers,
And willing to die for our Queen.
JOKES TO BURN.
To the Editors of The Friend.—Sirs,—Is it true that a certain cavalry general, on finding good grass for his horses for the first time at Koodoesrand, exclaimed, "By Jove, this will supply a long-veldt want"?
That, to remind the burghers of the disgrace of Bloemfontein's fall into British hands, President Kruger has changed the name of the Transvaal capital to "Oomfontein"?